Heart of My Hearts
by deepeningheart
Summary: A collection of stories tell the tales of cats who lived long before the great journey. Love, hatred, death and life - they are linked by a bond of emotion, stronger than time.
1. Alone in the Dark

**1. Alone in the Dark**

Stonepaw awoke in the silence of the apprentice den. It was just before dawn, and Willowpaw, the den's only other occupant, was already out for the dawn patrol. Shivering and stretching, he knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, so he poked his head out of the entrance of the den into the silent camp. There was no other cat around, and frost lay thickly on the ground of the clearing, broken only by the occasional pawprint of the recently-departed patrol. Stonepaw's breath made clouds in the frigid air. The pine needles of the surrounding trees were covered in a delicate lattice of ice, twinkling in the false dawn light. It was deep leaf-bare in ShadowClan camp. Picking his way carefully across the frozen ground, Stonepaw came quickly to the top of the hollow in which the camp was situated. At the top of the rise, he spared a quick glance back to his sleeping Clan, but then he was off, the excitement of a new dawn filling his pawsteps as he sped through the pines. Soon enough, he came to the thunderpath near the carrionplace, now entirely covered with the frost of a chill dawn. The delicate layer of ice flashed suddenly as the sun came over the horizon, and Stonepaw looked away, blinking. The warmth soaked into his black and gray tabby fur. How he loved these calm, silent mornings, where he could do as he pleased without bossy warriors to order him around, without Willowpaw telling him off all the time, without his mother, Dawnhope, fussing. He sat by the lake a little longer, but the knowledge that soon the others would be up, the day begun, forced him on. Besides, he'd promised Flight that he'd meet her at dawn, and it was past already!

When he reached their secret spot, a little cave made of bushes hidden away in the slope of a hill, she was there waiting.

"Wondered if you were coming at all," she said by way of greeting, a twinkle in her bright blue eyes.

"'Course," Stonepaw responded, his pleasure at seeing his friend evident in his tone.

"Well, we don't have much time," said Flight, shaking out her tortoiseshell coat and flicking her tail at him. "Shale'll notice I'm missing soon."

It was their time together that made life bearable for Stonepaw. Flight was a loner, her and her father Shale living together in the hills outside Clan territory. Stillpaw had met her when he'd gotten lost, a few days after he'd been apprenticed. He had wandered outside the Clan boundaries – which Flight and Shale were always careful never to cross – and ran into Flight, hunting rabbits in the bushes. After their initial surprise, the two had fallen to talking and become firm friends. But Flight was careful never to let Shale know. "He'd want me to stop seeing you," she had explained, but never said why. Stonepaw had never seen Shale, but he was scared of him all the same. He didn't want to have to say goodbye to Flight.

It had become their ritual, at the start of the day, to sneak away and meet in their secret den. They'd talk and play there, but it was always too short a time.

"Why don't you come join the Clan?" asked Stonepaw, sitting down and wrapping his tail around his paws to ward off the chill. It was an old debate.

"I won't leave Shale," said Flight firmly, as she always did. Stonepaw couldn't understand why, she seemed to dislike him so much, but that had normally ended the argument. Today, though, he had a plan.

"Shale could join too. Easy." he said smugly, although he didn't enjoy the prospect. Still, Flight was worth it.

But to his surprise, she still shook her head.

"He hates the Clans. He warned me to never go near them. He says that you, that you 'corrupt everything you touch'."

"That's not _true_!"

"I don't know! He must have a reason. If he found out I was friends with a Clan cat – " she cut off with a nervous hiss.

"If he's so mean to you – "

"He's not! He's just had a hard time with the Clans, is all."

"What did we ever do to him?"

"I don't _know_! But it must be something – "

"That's ridiculous; we never mess with loners."

"So are you calling him a _liar_, Stonepaw?" Flight was immediately hostile.

"I – no! Just – it's your life, Flight! Make your own decisions. What do _you_ want?"

"I won't leave my father! He's been through enough already."

Stonepaw was a little hurt by the promptness of her answer. "So . . . you're choosing him over me?"

She became instantly contrite. "Oh no, Stonepaw! I still see you, but if I left . . . I'd never see him again. Don't you understand?"

"But it's just these short, rushed chats every morning now and then. I _don't_ see you . . . not really. _Please_, Flight."

She shook her head. "No."

Stonepaw felt crushed. "Well. O-okay, then."

Flight sighed. "Well, what about you leave your Clan and come live with us?" she said, flicking her ears back.

Stonepaw paused, his mouth open in a snappy retort, but then Flight's words sunk in. Leave the Clan? Become a loner? No, not a loner. He'd have Flight. And Flight was better than the endless patrols, the hungry hunting without being allowed to eat your own prey, the condescension of the warriors and the sarcasm of Willowpaw.

"Alright," he said.

"See? You couldn't leave your family either – what?" Flight suddenly realised what he'd said.

"Yes, I'll come with you," said Stonepaw. Confidence was filling him with every spoken word.

But Flight's eyes went wide and she opened and closed her mouth, looking for something to say. She didn't look excited, as Stonepaw felt. She looked horrified, and he soon realised why.

"You didn't mean it." She shook her head slowly. "You just wanted to prove your point. You thought I wouldn't say yes." There was a horrible, terrifying emptiness inside him all of a sudden; the place which Flight had once filled.

"Stonepaw . . . "Flight's eyes pleaded with him. "You wouldn't like life as a loner. It's so different from the Clans'!"

"You don't think I could cope?" Stonepaw's voice sounded hollow in his ears. "Or that I wouldn't try? I think that leaving Shale's not your problem. I think it's loving me."

"Love?" Flight looked a little startled. "Stonepaw, we're so young. There's no such thing in our world."

"Yours, maybe." Stonepaw was morose now; he'd realised too late that Flight really had been more than a friend for him. "But there are other kinds of love. Aren't I your friend?"

"Yes! But – I like my life as it is. It works for me. Don't please ruin it, Stonepaw. I haven't been happy in so long."

Stonepaw would ordinarily have stopped at this point, but he was different now.

"You don't care about me. Why should I care about you?"

"Stonepaw, I do!" Flight was angry now. "But – Shale!" This ended in a gasp. Stonepaw spun around, Clan battle training making him drop instinctively into a battle crouch. And the sight of the huge tom pushing his way through the bushes into their hideaway just made him more nervous. He was slate-grey, strong, with a long scar over his left eye and a torn ear. His eyes too were the colour of rock, and just as cold.

"Shale, I – I . . . " Flight stammered, eyes wide. But to the surprise of both young cats, Shale just smiled, sadly, it appeared to Stonepaw.

"No need to be so scared, Flight, dear one," he said. His voice was quite rough, but Stonepaw could hear the music still in it.

"I'm not here to tell you off."

"Then . . . you're not angry?"

A laugh. "Why would I be angry you're making your own life, Flight?" Angry, no, but there was sadness in his eyes.

"What . . . ?"

"Oh, Flight, I knew I'd lose you one day."

Flight looked stunned, but Shale didn't seem to notice.

"The allure of Clan life is always strong. I know. And it's especially tempting when there's someone there for you as well."

Flight glanced, somewhat guiltily towards Stonepaw, but he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"How did you know?"

"Flight!" Shale looked exasperated. "You've been sneaking away almost every morning for how long? Can you imagine how I _couldn't_ notice?"

Flight looked somewhat put down.

"But, dear one, I knew this would happen. You could never be happy with just your old father for company."

"Shale, of course I could – of course I am! What are you saying?" Flight was distraught.

Shale shook his head. "You don't have to pretend for me. Don't worry, love. You can go. Join his Clan. Be happy."

Stonepaw's heart gave a sudden leap, but he forced it back down. He couldn't let himself think this might change her mind, couldn't let himself hope . . .

"No!" Flight's emphatic rejection of the idea startled her father and crushed Stonepaw.

"Flight, you have to go. You have to be happy. Don't let me ruin your life!"

"I don't want to."

Stonepaw turned away. He couldn't take it anymore. Flight was his heart, his life, his love – his all. And she had turned him away.

Shale suddenly lost his look of complete assurance.

"But, Flight . . . "

"I want to stay with you. Please, please don't make me leave! I don't want to live in the Clan!"

"Not even with me?" Stonepaw croaked. His voice stuck in his throat. Flight squared her shoulders and bit her lip. Shale looked at Stonepaw, his eyes full of sympathy and sudden understanding, though Stonepaw knew he'd support Flight all the way – as he should. But he knew that Shale somehow understood.

"No, Stonepaw. Not even with you."

"Stonepaw . . . " Shale said quietly to himself, and he looked suddenly far far away, in the past. Then he flinched, and an ugly expression crossed his face.

"You're right, dear one. The Clan is not for you." he said harshly, glaring suddenly at Stonepaw. He couldn't fathom what his name meant to the big loner, but it had shattered what little good opinion he had gained.

"Let's go." And Shale left the broken bushes, crashing a new trail out through the walls of their hideaway.

"Goodbye, Stonepaw. I . . . don't think it would be a good idea for me to come back, 'kay? So – so I won't be seeing you again. But . . . ah! Good_bye_." And Flight left after her father, angry tears clouding her eyes. Why had they all misunderstood? But Stonepaw . . . he'd been a friend, but he could never mean half so much as her father. It had been good while it had lasted, but – she was glad it was done. Things had really just gone on too long.

Stonepaw didn't know how long he stood there, in the broken bushes. He could hear his name being called in the distance, but he couldn't respond. His world had gone dim, and there was no-one else there with him. No-one at all.

Willowpaw found him first. An apprentice missing; the whole Clan had turned out to look for him. She scolded him firmly before the rest of her patrol got through the bushes. They were the ones who realised something was wrong; Stonepaw wouldn't respond to their questions, wouldn't look at them, and in his eyes was the awful knowledge of something lost.

Time passed, and things got better. But Stonepaw could never forget Flight, and even when he became Stoneheart, and took an apprentice of his own, he would always feel as if he was alone in the dark.


	2. Whose Blood is on Your Paws Now?

**2. Whose blood is on your paws now?**

"Wildrose! Circlebreeze! Wildrose! Circlebreeze!" As the Clan called her new name, Wildrose felt a great happiness. It was a perfect moment! She and Circlebreeze, her best friend, were finally RiverClan warriors. The sun shone brightly over the camp of rushes, bright greenleaf growth heavy on the trees on the near shore, ThunderClan's border. She could see the newly reclaimed Sunningrocks, last night's battle still fresh in her mind. Hah! She and Circlebreeze had proved themselves then! That was why they were being made warriors now, ahead of Fennelpaw, Deerpaw and Shiverpaw, although those three were a full moon older. And they'd never been afraid to use that advantage. Well, now she and Circlebreeze were the seniors. They'd just have to do as they were told. A smug smile flitted across her face, to be quickly replaced by her previous pure joy as she banished such unworthy thoughts. A warrior oughtn't be so mean. And she was a warrior now!

Their vigil that night was easy. ThunderClan made no move to take back Sunningrocks, and the air was warm. The only difficulty was not being allowed to talk to Circlebreeze! Her friend sat staring at the stars, his light tabby fur and white underbelly ruffled in the slight breeze, the stars reflected in his amber eyes. He turned to her and grinned; and she could see the curious circle marking around his right eye, a ring of darker fur that had given him his name. She smiled back and placed her tail across her mouth, reminding him. They'd have plenty of time to talk later! She looked down into the river below her feet. She sat at the very edge of the camp, her paws almost in the water, a little downstream from the stepping-stones. It was almost full moon tonight, and the stars were bright too, so she could clearly see her reflection staring back at her, illuminated by the heavens. Her pinkish coat, white marked and red striped, had been well groomed by her proud mother that afternoon before the ceremony. It really was almost the colour of a rose, thought Wildrose with a little vanity. She had little white socks on each of her paws, which could be considered dainty for a warrior, but that didn't make them any less dangerous, as some ThunderClan warriors had discovered. And her gold-flecked grey eyes sparkled with the recollection. She flicked her tail across her paws, utterly content and wide awake to the world.

The next few weeks passed quickly enough. The border patrols, the hunting trips, all seemed to take on new life to the young warriors. Soon enough though, the pair were hanging about the nursery, hoping for apprentices of their own.

"We are a little young to be considered, really," mused Circlebreeze one morning, after they'd been sent away to bring the queens some food, because if they were going to be loitering around there all the time they could at least make sure that all the queens were well fed!

"I shouldn't think that that would matter," Wildrose responded as they came to their favourite stream bend. The fish tended to slow down around there, to nibble at the sweet water-weeds, and they were easy to catch. It was moving into leaf-fall, and there was a cold breeze as the two sat down.

"I know. Frillfeather, Splashrock and Otterwillow are the only warriors without apprentices at the moment, I and reckon we'd do a better job than any of them." Circlebreeze's statement was more than just youthful conceit; the trio he had named were older warriors, with less of a grasp of the new tricks and techniques, and close to moving to the elders den besides.

Circlebreeze had his eye on Snowkit, Wildrose her sister Icekit. They were the only kits in the nursery, and, at five moons old, would need apprenticing soon. Already they were starting to range out of the camp, illegal (although expected) forays that earned them stern scoldings from every warrior. It was often Wildrose and Circlebreeze's job to bring them back; spending time around the nursery meant they often ran errands for the queens. Consequently, Icekit and Snowkit now showed quite a preference for the two youngest warriors, who tried to make staying in camp more fun for them and often got them out of trouble. Unfortunately, this also meant that the sisters would follow them around.

"Heya heya Wildrose, Circlebreeze!" called Snowkit, bounding out of the bushes by the stream. "We've come t'hunt wi' you an' learn extra 'fore you're our mentors!" explained Icekit, coming to an expectant stop by Wildrose's paws. A few fish already lay on the bank beside the cats, so they had no trouble telling the kits that they'd already caught plenty for the day, and that Snowkit and Icekit were so smart they didn't need extra training to be the best apprentices ever, but why didn't they help Circlebreeze and Wildrose bring the fish back to camp?

As the queens thanked the pair for the return of their kits and the juicy fish besides, Wildrose felt a surge of pride. This was what it meant to serve her Clan! Life should always be like this. The sharp breeze blowing scents of berries and fallen leaves, all kinds of prey abounding, the Clan flourishing. The responsibilities of a warrior felt right upon her shoulders and, as it had all the weeks since their warrior ceremony, so did the world.

The next dawn it all changed. Circlebreeze and Wildrose (who never did anything apart) were patrolling the ThunderClan border with Greywave and Fennelpaw, who still resented the pair for becoming warriors before her. There had been no response from the woodland Clan over the taking of Sunningrocks, and so RiverClan had somewhat relaxed, confident in their assumption of the cowardice of ThunderClan.

This morning it was different. As the Sunningrocks came into view, Circlebreeze's keen eyes saw first out of all of them the lone ThunderClan tom casually cleaning his paws, sitting on the sun-warmed stones.

"What are you doing here, Birdflash?" demanded Greywave, who recognised the big, tawny cat from Gatherings. "Sunningrocks are RiverClan's now. ThunderClan was too scared to take them back."

"Too wise, you mean," corrected Birdflash, a sneer on his lips. "We knew RiverClan would be too stupid to keep up patrols. And we were right, of course."

"We're smarter than _you_, you -" Fennelpaw began heatedly before Greywave, his own eyes flashing with anger, put his tail across his apprentice's mouth.

"Watch your words, Birdflash," he cautioned. "We outnumber you while you're on RiverClan territory, remember."

"_If_ you can get to your camp for reinforcements," said the tom, unconcerned. "And I think . . . not." He stood up, and with his words, six more ThunderClan warriors slipped out of the bushes behind the patrol. Their fur was still dripping from their trip across the river, and they smelt of the herbs they must have rolled in to disguise their scents.

"We'll make an example of you," hissed Birdflash, almost gently, his eyes sparking. "RiverClan will know never to take ThunderClan's territory _ever again_."

The ThunderClan warriors began to advance, and he leaped the river – it was shallow and thin at that point, and he landed only a few tail-lengths from the bank, splashing quickly through to join his Clanmates.

Wildrose and the others were surrounded. They made a loose circle, back-to-back as they were hemmed in. Wildrose could feel the blood pounding through her ears. All her dreams, all her wishes – did it end today? She could hear Greywave whisper, almost imperceptibly, to Fennelpaw, "Don't worry about the fighting. We'll get you an opening, and you have to _run_ back to camp and get help. Understand?"

Then at some signal that ThunderClan cats attacked.

It wasn't much of a fight. With no space to manoeuvre and hopelessly outnumbered, the RiverClan warriors were soon overwhelmed. Greywave lunged straight for Birdflash, pushing his apprentice towards the gap in the enemy circle with his tail. But they only grappled for a few moments before Birdflash thrust the older cat away, a quick slash with his front paw ripping through Greywave's throat. He fell to the ground, choking and twitching for a few moments, before lying still, his neck bloody and unmoving. Two of the other cats chased after Fennelpaw, who was the fastest apprentice but couldn't outrun them. She screamed as they brought her down, Wildrose and Circlebreeze throwing themselves at the remaining warriors but being pushed back.

"I know you!" gasped Wildrose to a scrawny brown tom, who pulled her off one of his comrades as she went for her neck. "You're – Rabbittooth!" They'd met at a Gathering, and he'd seemed nice enough then. But now he snarled wordlessly, thinking her only a RiverClan cat and therefore nothing. "Our blood is on your paws!" she hissed at him as the seven cats surrounded her and Circlebreeze. He laid his tail along her shoulders, and she glanced quickly at him. His amber eyes were sad but strong, and she knew that he'd fight with her to the end. All the love he'd never told her he'd had for her was there, and she knew he knew that she loved him back.

"Over the river!" he called suddenly, and, forewarned by a light tap of his tail she was ready to turn and follow as he leaped over the startled heads of the warriors. They splashed into the river and over to the ThunderClan border – to the Sunningrocks where they could hold more easily. The ThunderClan warriors followed quickly, but the pair had disappeared into one of the many little caves.

"Split up and find them," ordered Birdflash, one ear bleeding. He was irritated; two young warriors shouldn't be so hard to beat.

Circlebreeze and Wildrose dashed deeper into the little cave, squeezing through crevices with speed born of desperation. Scrambling up a rockfall, they came to an exit – on ThunderClan territory! Pausing to catch their breath, the two slumped in a corner.

"It's okay, Wildrose, it's okay," said Circlebreeze, and only then did she realise she was crying, and that there were tears in his eyes too. They could hear the water lapping against the stones far below, and the sounds of the searching patrol. "Greywave . . . Fennelpaw . . . " murmured Wildrose. She couldn't believe they were dead. Greywave had always been so nice, telling stories to the kits like any elder, taking the apprentices out hunting and training when their own mentors were sick. And Fennelpaw – they'd often been at odds after Circlebreeze and Wildrose's early warrior ceremony, but she'd hoped that Fennelpaw's imminent one would ease that tension. She'd been the fastest runner out of the apprentices, the best hunter. Now they were both gone. She pressed close against Circlebreeze, shaking.

"Let's stay here," she suggested. "They won't be able to fight well in the dark either, and only one or two will be able to get in at a time. And we can retreat the way we came if we need to."

"Alright," Circlebreeze agreed, his voice gentle. "I would have liked to see the sun once more, though." This last was murmured to himself, but it brought another tear to Wildrose's eyes. Then Rabbittooth – at least, it could have been Rabbittooth, it was hard to tell with his head blocking the light from the entrance – found them and called, "Birdflash! They're in here!"

Circlebreeze pulled himself to his feet, tensing, ready to fight. Wildrose followed suit, and no sooner than that Rabbittooth forced his way through the small entrance. She pounced and he responded to the attack, going for the kill. She couldn't believe she'd ever thought him nice! Now she targeted his throat too, but he was an excellent fighter and she was hard put to defend herself. As they wrestled on the hard stone of the cave, she caught a glimpse of Circlebreeze exchanging blows with another cat, shadows in the shadows, and still another trying to get through the entrance. Then Rabbittooth's claws scored her flank and she had to concentrate. Finally she managed to pin him against a spur of rock and slammed his head back against the wall, seeing his eyes roll back and feeling his body slump, lifeless. She wasn't sure if he was dead, but he was out of the action for now. Lunging across the cramped space, she slashed her claws along the face of the warrior dragging herself through the cave's entrance. Rearing back in pain, the cat knocked her head against the low rock ceiling and fell to the ground, unconscious, and blocking the entrance. Amazed at this stroke of good luck, she turned to help Circlebreeze with his opponent, but the space was now so dark that she could barely see the forms of two cats grappling over the other side, near their escape route. One of the cats suddenly rolled the other over, holding it down as it went for the throat. "Circlebreeze!" screamed Wildrose, and she sprang to rescue him, knocking the cat off its victim. They rolled over twice, stopping against the hard rocky wall. The other cat's head struck the stone with a harsh crack, the force of their momentum making Wildrose's move unexpectedly fatal. Just then, Birdflash and his cats managed to pull their stunned comrade out of the entrance, allowing light to pour in. And allowing Wildrose to see her terrible, terrible mistake. It was Circlebreeze's body which lay under her paws, his eyes staring sightlessly into the sunlight he had never seen again. The other cat he'd killed, she could see now, her brain registering the detail automatically. But Rabbittooth was still alive, pulling himself to his feet dazedly.

"Whose blood is on your paws now, Wildrose?" he said, staring at her with cloudy eyes, blood running down the side of his head. Then Birdflash forced his way into the cave, and Wildrose, staggering away from Circlebreeze's limp body, felt herself dive down the tunnel, scrambling and slipping on water-smoothed rocks, dashing down the short sunless passage, across the river. There was silence in her ears, her body shaking, not understanding. But her heart knew, her heart knew what she'd done. She passed Greywave's body, then Fennelpaw's. She wasn't functioning anymore, spasms passing down her limbs making it impossible to run, unhearing, uncaring, willing death on.

She made it back to camp somehow, choked out her message – "ThunderClan retaking Sunningrocks! The others – dead, all dead –" – and seen the warriors departing in a rush. Then there was blackness, welcome blackness, where she didn't have to think or feel. Fallowthorn, the medicine cat, told her later that they'd found the bodies of Fennelpaw, Greywave and Circlebreeze stretched out on the rocks on the bank there, a warning. RiverClan'd take Sunningrocks back, no doubt, but not yet, not yet.

Icekit and Snowkit came to visit Wildrose once or twice, as she lay in the medicine den recovering, but they soon stopped. She wouldn't talk, wouldn't move, even after the scrapes and scratches on her body were healed. She told only Fallowthorn what had happened, only him because she knew he'd be the only one to understand. He did understand, in his own oblique way, with the universal empathy bestowed on a medicine cat. He helped her through those impossible months, though it was a long time before she could bear to have other company or see the sunlight. She wouldn't see Icekit or Snowkit, reminders of that past life, and what a shock it was to hear that they'd been apprenticed to the newest warriors, Deerwhisker and Shiverstripe. They'd buried Circlebreeze and the others while Wildrose was still unconscious, but, when she felt well enough, she went to sit by their graves, at the bend of the stream that they had loved to fish at. Wildrose felt as though she'd killed her own heart, and that it was buried there with them.

"I think you need something to do," said Fallowthorn to her one day. The day before RiverClan warriors had successfully retaken Sunningrocks, and Wildrose had fallen back into her depression. She wished that they'd just let them alone. Those rocks were death.

"I'm fine," she muttered, her automatic response.

"Don't be silly. Go fetch me some watermint, please."

And so she began to run errands for Fallowthorn, as she had once for the queens. Soon enough, he asked her if she would like to train as his apprentice, and it seemed only natural to agree. The smell of herbs was soothing now to her, and she was sick enough of killing to last a lifetime. But she had one request.

"I'm not Wildrose anymore. It just doesn't feel like me. I was – I was Circlebreeze's Wildrose. Now he's gone I'm just – no-one."

"I understand," said Fallowthorn, nodding. And he did, as he always had. "What are you now?"

She had to think about that, but Rabbittooth's piercing comment had kept coming back to her, and so her final choice seemed somehow right.

"Bloodrose! Bloodrose!" As the Clan called her new name, Bloodrose didn't know how she felt. Circlebreeze had stood here beside her once, and his name had been called with hers, but that time was gone now. By her paw, or by another, he was gone and nothing would change that fact. She'd tried to keep memories of him untainted by guilt, and she would always hold him in her heart, buried in the riverbank. A new future waited now, a different one than she'd thought she would ever have.

"Bloodrose," she whispered to herself. Yes, that was her now. Bloodrose, whose paws were clean, not covered with the blood of her heart.


	3. All the Wrong Choices

**3. All the Wrong Choices**

The dawn rose swiftly over WindClan territory, lighting up the moors in gold and rose. It was the very end of leaf-bare, new melted snow swelling the frigid streams and baring the plains to make way for new growth of heather.

Crookedclaw sat watching the sun rise. Ever since he'd been a kit – such a very long time ago – he'd loved to watch the new day coming to life, the sun painting the skies and the cold fresh air and the mist rising from the moors.

Ooh, but the cold was getting at his old bones now. Ah well; the sun would be warm today, and he could lie on the rocks with Treewhisker and Squirrelthorn.

How strange life was, nowadays; to have to do nothing and be nothing more than a story-teller, to have food brought to you and every other comfort. How strange indeed. It was good for his old bones, yes, but his old heart? Now that he could no longer hunt and fight for his Clan, give back in any way, Crookedclaw wasn't sure he wanted a part in it. Ah well, ah well. Let the apprentices take care of him, yes, that was the way of the world, the young caring for the old. Not that he hadn't done enough of that in his day, StarClan knew! Taught them well, it did, taking care of the elders. Ah well!

Making his way down from the precipice of rock from which he observed this daily ritual, Crookedclaw ran into one of those very apprentices, a strong, gray-furred tom named Stonepaw. He was a well-grown cat, surely too big to be just an apprentice!

"When's your warrior ceremony, young, ah, Stonepaw?" asked Crookedclaw as he did every day.

"Not yet, old one," replied Stonepaw with a grin, as usual. It was hard to tell whether the wily old cat was just pretending to lose his memory, really had lost it, or a bit of both. Crookedclaw delighted in playing with the apprentices, and, as the only one who could put up with the constant ribbing, Stonepaw was assigned to take care of him.

"Why don't you just come over this way, Crookedclaw, and you can let the sun warm you up a bit? I'll bring you some fresh-kill." He led the ageing ginger tabby to a patch of sunlight over on one side of the camp, near the elder's den in the heather. Crookedclaw would go back to sleep almost immediately after he'd eaten, and then Stonepaw could get on with his training. The old cat was nice, excellent company once you got around his oddities, but Stonepaw had battle moves to learn and prey to catch!

When Stonepaw returned to camp that evening, laden with prey and accompanied by a satisfied hunting patrol, it was to a grave camp.

"Wildfur's border patrol has reported signs of RiverClan intrusion into our territory," said Brindlestar, standing on the rocky spur where she called Clan meetings from.

"There is no evidence that they have taken any prey yet, but it would appear that they are scouting out the territory – to see if it's worth taking." These words were met with a hiss from her Clan. Crookedclaw blinked open his eyes at the sound, disturbed from his nap in the last of the sun.

"We are going to increase patrols in that area immediately, and all warriors should be ready for battle."

"Why wait?" rasped Squirrelthorn, a cranky old tortoiseshell she-cat who was never pleased with the running of the Clan. "They're just going to think we're cowards and take even more territory! WindClan would never have allowed this to pass when I was deputy."

Too true, that was, reflected Crookedclaw sadly; in Squirrelthorn's day WindClan's leader had been a violent and proud cat named Greenstar. He'd led them into many an unjust battle. The warriors had looked to Squirrelthorn as deputy to fight against this unnecessary feuding, but the power of leading a strong Clan sang to something inside her, and she had never listened. Fortunately, Greenstar's savage policies had brought him to an early death, and Squirrelthorn had had to retire from war-wounds. Brindlestar was a much wiser leader, he decided, as the she-cat dipped her head in acknowledgement and said simply, "There is no reason to attack just yet. It may simply have been some lost apprentices who forgot where the borders were. I don't want any blood shed without good reason."

"Hear hear," mumbled Crookedclaw.

A day or two passed without event, but on the third sunrise after the intrusions had been detected, Stonepaw discovered definite proof that RiverClan were taking territory: he saw them, moving the scent line. He came running back to camp immediately, unwilling to tackle the large patrol alone. As he was pelting towards the entrance, he ran into the three elders, Crookedclaw, Treewhisker and Squirrelthorn, out walking.

"Can't stop hafta get to camp RiverClan's taking land!" he gasped when they questioned him, and tore off again.

"Now they will have to fight," said Squirrelthorn with an air of smugness. She set off walking again, at an angle to their original direction, which would have taken them to a group of sun-warmed boulders.

"Now where are you off to?" demanded Treewhisker, the oldest elder. He hated to have his routine interrupted; indeed, he had barely deviated in the twenty-odd moons since he'd left the warriors den.

"To help, of course," called Squirrelthorn back to them, flicking her tail. "I haven't missed a battle since I was a kit."

"That's because there've been no battles in recent years," said Crookedclaw, alarmed. She couldn't seriously be thinking of fighting! With a bad leg and far to many moons besides.

"Cowards," said Squirrelthorn casually. Then she was off into the heather.

"What can we do?" muttered Crookedclaw agitatedly. They'd never make it to camp in time to get help, and obviously talking to her wasn't going to work.

"Let her go," said Treewhisker around a yawn. "She wants to get killed in battle, let her."

Crookedclaw opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again as the ancient tom's words sunk in. _Killed in battle_. Rather than just malingering his way out of life, waited on by that poor apprentice 'til he got too old to see or hear or speak. How glorious. Everyone mourns a war hero. The dreams of his apprentice years came back, with a more morbid twist that came with his age, and he could see himself again as a warrior, proud and fearsome, with his foes fleeing before him. Surely, wanting to go out bravely was not such a terrible thing?

"I'm going to go with her," he blurted out, shocked at his split-second decision. Didn't wisdom come with age too? Well, maybe that's what it was.

"Hm-hmm," said Treewhisker, already turning back to the path.

Well, Crookedclaw would not be like that! Feeling like a young warrior again, he began to limp after Squirrelthorn.

Stonepaw had reached camp. Delivering his message to Brindlestar, he gasped air into his hollow lungs as she gave swift orders.

"Wildfur, Willowfang, go around to the RiverClan border. Stop them getting away downstream. Owleye, you cut over by Fourtrees with Yellowstripe and Ratpaw. Cloudleap, Sunsparrow, Featherpaw – come with me. We'll attack head on! Oh, and Stonepaw, you'd better come too."

The warriors she'd named sprinted out of camp immediately. Stonepaw found his breath again and bounded over to stand next to Featherpaw, his denmate, a golden tabby tom.

"Ready?" Brindlestar asked. The rest of the patrol had grouped around the two apprentices. "Lead the way, Stonepaw."

The patrol flew over the moor like the wind through the heather. Stonepaw, at its head, felt like he was leading the world.

They soon reached the place where the RiverClan warriors had been spotted. It was a break in the heather that covered the moor there, a little meadow ringed by grass covered boulders which RiverClan had moved the border to. It was several tail-lengths inside the real border; a portion of land encompassing some of the best hunting in all of WindClan's territory. Slowing, the patrol crept silently forward through the undergrowth, and, due to the speed of Stonepaw's message and the swift response of the battle-ready Clan, found that the enemy were still on WindClan territory.

"We should get out of here before a patrol comes along," said one of them nervously, pacing the heather.

"We'll set a few more scent marks, then wait over the old border. Remember, Scaleclaw, this is RiverClan territory now," replied another, a dusky brown she-cat who Stonepaw recognised as RiverClan's deputy, Otterwish.

"Too late," said Brindlestar, pushing her way out through the heather into the small boulder-surrounded clearing. The RiverClan cats spun around, shock stamped on their faces as the rest of the WindClan warriors followed their leader.

"Get off our land, and we'll pretend this never happened," offered Brindlestar, the beginnings of a snarl in her voice.

"Your land? This is RiverClan territory now," responded Otterwish, her warriors shaping into battle formation behind her.

"The border is the _ravine_, and it's going to stay that way – "

"You think you can scare us off? You'll have to _fight_ if you want to keep this land!"

Brindlestar narrowed her eyes.

"So be it." With that both sides attacked.

"Squirrelthorn! Squirrelthorn, wait up!" yelled Crookedclaw. He'd finally caught up to her as she made her way towards the sounds of battle they could now hear over by the ravine.

"You're not going to stop me, Crookedclaw! I know what I want!" she snapped back, not slowing.

"I'm not _trying _to stop you!"

"What?" Now Squirrelthorn stopped and turned suddenly, almost making Crookedclaw run into her.

"I'm coming with you!"

The battle at the ravine was going badly for the WindClan warriors, outnumbered almost two to one. Stonepaw found himself fighting back-to-back with Featherpaw, who was bleeding from a rip in his ear. Together they pounced on a huge ginger tom, pushing him back towards the nearby gorge, at the far-away bottom of which the river roared. But then the RiverClan warrior found an opening and slashed at Featherpaw, catching him a cruel blow to the side of the head. He dropped to the ground. With a snarl, Stonepaw threw himself on his adversary, biting and clawing, but the warrior just shook him off, and, putting his paw on Stonepaw's throat, pushed down hard. Stonepaw gasped and writhed, desperate for air, but he couldn't get free. Then, when everything was about to go black and Stonepaw's head was filled with stars, the pressure suddenly disappeared and he heaved huge gulps of air into his grateful lungs. When he looked up, he saw Wildfur wrestling with the warrior. Willowfang bounded past him to join the battle too, and he could see the other patrol rushing in to help. Now the tide of the battle was turning against the RiverClan warriors. Wildfur finished with his opponent and sent him yowling back over the border with a parting swipe at his tail. Stonepaw shook his head clear, and staggered over to Featherpaw's still form.

"Are you okay? Featherpaw, answer me!" he hissed urgently to his friend. His voice was rough and his throat felt raw. Featherpaw just moaned and twitched a little, but relief flooded through Stonepaw. He'd thought that he might have been dead.

Stonepaw began to drag Featherpaw away from the battle. The others would just have to make do without him for now. His head felt like rock and he could barely breathe. Brindlestar and Otterwish were still fighting, locked in a fearsome battle while the other warriors wrestled around them. It didn't look like either she-cat would be giving up. Reaching a clump of heather beside one of the smaller boulders, Stonepaw stopped to get his breath back. Then he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him. More RiverClan warriors, coming to help their comrades? No, it had RiverClan scent. Then, to Stonepaw's utter shock, two elders – Squirrelthorn, limping heavily from her bad leg, and Crookedclaw, out of breath – burst through the undergrowth, dodged around the boulders, and flung themselves into the battle! Squirrelthorn went straight for Otterwish, a fight which none of the warriors had dared to interfere with, and, wrenching her off Brindlestar, rolled over and over, locked in combat. Otterwish looked surprised at her new opponent, but, for all her age, Squirrelthorn was a ferocious fighter, and Otterwish had no choice but to respond.

Crookedclaw took a little more time, casting about for a cat to fight, and so Stonepaw was able to gather his wits enough to grab the elder's tail in his teeth.

"Yowch! Stonepaw, what was that for?" demanded Crookedclaw.

"Are you kidding? You'll get yourself killed!" Stonepaw found it hard to speak around his mouthful of fur, but he held grimly on and gave Crookedclaw's tail a firm tug to reinforce his message.

"Well . . . well, maybe," spluttered Crookedclaw, trying to be dignified while attempting to wrench his tail from the apprentice's grasp. "What do you care?"

"What do I care?" yowled Stonepaw, amazed. "You're one of my Clanmates – hey, get back here!" For with his surprise, Stonepaw had opened his mouth long enough to release Crookedclaw's tail, and the elder went streaking off to join the battle.

"Arrggh," growled Stonepaw, looking frantically between the injured Featherpaw and Crookedclaw, who was now fighting a dark brown RiverClan she-cat, unnoticed by any of the other warriors. With an apologetic glance at his unconscious friend, he raced over and tackled Crookedclaw, knocking him away from the fight and towards the ravine. The RiverClan warrior snarled in surprise and frustration, but spun back to the battle instead of pursuing her old opponent. Stonepaw had misjudged his momentum, however, and the pair found themselves spinning over the edge of the cliff.

They landed on a fortunate ledge about a tail-length below. Scrabbling to get a clawhold into the sparse vegetation on it, Stonepaw didn't notice that Crookedclaw was failing to do so until the old cat started to slither off the rocky protrusion, with a shower of pebbles raining down into the river foaming far below.

"Crookedclaw! Grab my paw!" shouted Stonepaw, flinging his paw out dangerously and sinking his claws into the elder's scruff just in time. Crookedclaw was now hanging over the abyss, with nothing but Stonepaw's failing strength holding him up.

"Crookedclaw, you have to help me!" gasped Stonepaw as he felt his hold on the plants loosen. If he let go, then they would both fall to their deaths.

Crookedclaw raised his head a little, with great effort, and Stonepaw could see blood flowing from the side of his face. The elder's eyes were creased with pain and regret. Stonepaw realised then that his neck was broken, and he couldn't move a paw to help pull himself back to safety.

"I don't think . . . " he began, a choked whisper that Stonepaw could barely make out. "I don't think I'm really ready to die just yet," Crookedclaw said, then Stonepaw's hold slipped, and Crookedclaw fell, down, down, down, like a bird without wings.

Stonepaw's wordless grief for the old cat came rushing out in a broken yowl. Crookedclaw had been special, different from the other elders. Not as cranky as Squirrelthorn nor as lethargic and dull as Treewhisker; he'd had the best stories, even if he was difficult and tricksy, even if he was losing his mind a little. Stonepaw had had battle moves to learn and prey to catch, yes, but hadn't listening to stories and riddles with this old warrior been important too? Shouldn't he have made time for that? But too late now. Yes, too late now. And nothing would make that well again.

The battle continued up above the rim of the gorge. Brindlestar pulled herself to her paws, shaking blood out of her eyes and Otterwish was wrenched away from her.

"Squirrelthorn?" she exclaimed in shock when she saw the interfering warrior, already several tail-lengths away through the struggling cats. "Squirrelthorn, no! Yellowstripe, stop her!" she yelled to the warrior nearest the struggling pair. The black and brown tom looked over in surprise, but not in time to stop the pair plunging over the edge of the ravine, just as Crookedclaw and Stonepaw had done, unnoticed, only a little while before. Otterwish let out a despairing cry as she felt the earth disappear beneath her, full of such anguish that it hurt even Brindlestar's heart. She remembered that the RiverClan deputy had kits back at camp, apprentices, who were about to be made warriors. Squirrelthorn, however, yowled in triumph at this one last kill as they hung suspended for a moment, then plummeted into the emptiness.

Brindlestar stood frozen with shock. The rest of the battle was halted too, as cats of both sides tried to comprehend the awful tragedy.

Gathering herself together, Brindlestar said in a choked voice, "This battle is over. We can deal with the issue of the borders at the Gathering. Go back to your territory now, and we will return to our own camp." Wordlessly, all the warriors did as she said, numb with grief.

It was only on the way back to camp that Willowfang noticed that Featherpaw and Stonepaw were missing.

"I swear I saw them in the heather on the outer edge of the clearing," she said agitatedly.

"Perhaps they just went back to camp?" suggested Sunsparrow.

"No, no, Featherpaw was badly hurt, unconscious, I think," said Willowfang, shaking her head. The patrol had stopped at the top of one of the hills that covered the moor, and the wind whipped at their fur.

"Well, what are we waiting for? We'd better get back there and look for them," growled Cloudleap, a heavyset white cat with a long slash down his side from the fight.

"No. We have to be careful. RiverClan may think we are using Otterwish and Squirrelthorn's deaths to reclaim the land." countered Brindlestar gravely. Her face was drawn and her eyes grim. Cloudleap was speechless with indignation that such a thing could be thought.

"Willowfang and Ratpaw will go to look for them. An apprentice and one warrior could hardly be considered a land-claiming patrol. The rest of us must go back to camp, and tell them the news." The patrol all bowed their heads, not looking forward to the task.

Then they set off in their different directions, Willowfang and Ratpaw bounding off down the slope, the others setting it at their backs and taking the long, slow march home.

Stonepaw only noticed that the battle had stopped after a while. It took some time for the fact that there was silence above the gorge to register in his numbed ears. And then it took strength that he didn't have to haul himself back over the edge, so he was amazed to find himself beside Featherpaw's body once more. The apprentice was still drawing in ragged breaths, and Stonepaw was glad that his friend had not departed. Shivering, though not from the frost that hung heavy in the air, he curled up beside him, and waited.

Willowfang and Ratpaw arrived, after a time that Stonepaw had no quantity for. Calling in gentle voices for their Clanmates, they searched the boulders.

"I'm here," whispered Stonepaw, his voice strange in his battered throat. Then, "I'm here!" louder, and a fit of coughing followed. Ratpaw rushed over to them.

"Featherpaw! Stonepaw, are you alright?" the small brown she-cat's voice was filled with concern.

"Crookedclaw," he whispered, staring at her with sadness in his eyes, sadness that hid the guilt.

"I think he's back at camp," said Willowfang absently, her voice saturated with relief as she checked Featherpaw's pulse.

"He's not. He's dead," said Stonepaw. He still hadn't moved, but his strength was returning. The only thing he knew now was that they must not know who had killed Crookedclaw. Had it really been himself? It felt so long ago.

"Dead?" Ratpaw's question came out in a gasp. "How?"

"He came with Squirrelthorn. Fought a RiverClan warrior, and went over the cliff."

Willowfang bowed her head. Ratpaw's mouth was open in a grimace of shock. Neither cat had particularly liked the strange elder, but he had been part of their family, part of their lives.

"Don't they know that the warrior code exists for a _reason_?" Willowfang cried, a tear falling from her eyes. "Did they think we wouldn't protect them? How, how, could they?"

Stonepaw knew. Stonepaw remembered Crookedclaw's last words, terrible words that burnt his heart. Crookedclaw had thought that there would be valour and beauty in death. But he had not thought enough.


	4. The Lies of a Father

**4. The Lies of a Father**

"C'mon, Stonefeather, lets go already!" Shalepaw was impatient to get out of the camp. Stonefeather was his mentor, the best warrior in all WindClan. In all four Clans, thought Shalepaw proudly. The young apprentice had only just reached six moons, and was filled with enthusiasm for his new life.

It was his first fighting lesson, or was supposed to be. His mentor, a strong, grey tom who dwarfed the other cats in the Clan, was lingering by the leader's den, talking to Wildstar. Although he wasn't the deputy – rumour had it that when Wildstar had become leader, he'd offered Stonefeather the job, but he'd refused – Stonefeather still had a lot to do with the running – and defence – of the Clan.

"If we don't keep a better eye on ShadowClan, then the dales are lost," he was saying emphatically, in a whisper not meant to reach Shalepaw's ears.

"The warriors are overstretched already," snapped Wildstar in reply. There had been many extra patrols of late, one reason everyone was glad for Shalepaw's apprentice ceremony. There were only two other apprentices, Darkpaw and Threepaw, and less warriors than there should have been, owing to the difficult leaf-bare and a savage attack from ShadowClan less than a moon ago. Darkpaw's mentor Rattooth had been killed, and the apprentice still didn't have a new one. He'd only just gotten out of the medicine den, recovering from wounds to his leg. The battle had been inconclusive, so everycat was on edge for another ShadowClan incursion. Besides which, RiverClan had been getting restless in past moons, having been unable to hunt in their frozen river throughout leaf-bare. Now, a moon or so into new-leaf, most of the Clan had relaxed, reasonably sure that that Clan wouldn't attack without desperation. But Stonefeather, ever untrusting, wasn't so sure.

"Go. Your apprentice is waiting," said Wildstar, a little kinder. He disliked arguing, especially with his valued friend and aide. With a twist of his lip to show his irritation, Stonefeather nodded to his leader and swept out of camp, Shalepaw bobbing excitedly in his wake.

"Stand over there, Shalepaw," instructed Stonefeather when they reached the dip in the hills that was used for battle training. The sun was just over the horizon, filling the hollow with light.

"Now. I'm going to attack you, and you see if you can defend yourself," continued his mentor as Shalepaw bounded into position and dropped into a passable imitation of a battle crouch. Then Stonefeather sprang, and Shalepaw had time only to bat at the air with his paws before his mentor bowled him over and put a claw to his throat.

"Speed," said Stonefeather, letting his apprentice get up and shake the dust from his fur, "is the essence of fighting. Not only do you have to learn battle moves, but you have to be able to use them swiftly. Again."

Stonefeather and Shalepaw worked hard until the sun was high in the sky. As they returned to camp, the exhausted apprentice glanced at his mentor and said quietly, "Tell me about my father."

Shalepaw had never known his father, and his mother had died giving birth to him. Stonefeather, who'd taken care of Shalepaw whilst he was a kit, being like an uncle to him, was willing enough to talk about her.

"Rainwillow was a beautiful cat, and as kind as she was pretty. Everyone loved her," he would say, sadly. But when Shalepaw tried to ask about his father, Stonefeather's face would cloud. All he had told Shalepaw was that his father was a terrible cat, and he was better off not knowing. Shalepaw had had many theories; perhaps he was a warrior from another Clan, a rogue, even.

But now, as Shalepaw had known would happen, Stonefeather's eyes narrowed and he snarled, "Get back to camp. You can have the afternoon off." He spun on his paw and crashed away through the heather. Shalepaw lashed his tail in frustration. Stonefeather had always been close to Shalepaw, always known everything about him, even before Shalepaw knew it himself. And apparently, according to the elders' tales, Stonefeather had also been close to Rainwillow. They'd been friends. Shalepaw was sure that Stonefeather would know who Rainwillow had loved, if anyone did.

Then, suddenly, a new suspicion occurred to Shalepaw. After some careful thought, he had deduced that Stonefeather had loved Rainwillow. The way he spoke of her, and the look that came into his eyes. But Rainwillow hadn't loved him back, obviously – and so of course, Stonefeather would be bitter about the cat she had loved, which would explain why he called him 'terrible'. It would also explain why Stonefeather would take so much interest in an orphaned kit, even agreeing to mentor him after refusing to take on any other apprentice. So, Stonefeather had loved Rainwillow, and he hated the cat whom she had loved. But who had that been? Shalepaw thought he might have the answer. Frowning, he set off for camp alone, speeding up until he was flying through the heather.

Stonefeather pushed his way unseeing through the bushes that barred his way. Shalepaw had to stop asking! When was he just going to accept that Stonefeather would never tell him about his father, that terrible cat from Stonefeather's past? Shalepaw was better off not knowing what his father had done. He was better off without a father at all. Stonefeather would take care of him, not knowing. Reaching the cliff near the RiverClan border, Stonefeather slowed down. He looked over the brink to the river rushing far below. He came here often, when things got too much. He'd even considered jumping once or twice, but when it came down to it he just didn't have the nerve. Too many memories, dreams of an old ginger cat falling, down, down, like a bird without wings. Stonefeather could never jump. But he would wait here until his anger and regret and bitterness left him, until he could deal with the guilt.

Back at camp, Shalepaw sought out Stonefeather's closest friend, a warrior named Featherstone. They'd taken each other's names deliberately, a sign of their close bond. After the battle of the gorge, at which the pair had earned their warrior names, both had been quite distraught over the deaths of two WindClan elders. The story was that the two had intercepted one of the elders, and been very heroic trying to keep him from harm. Then Featherstone had been knocked unconscious, and Stonefeather had had to fight off three RiverClan warriors alone, whilst protecting the elder. But then one of the warriors had pushed the elder off a cliff. Stonefeather had tried to save him, but it was too late. Instead, he turned back to the battle, and fought off the warriors single-pawed. That was the story which old Yellowstripe had told him when he was a kit. But despite his heroics, Stonefeather had never been the same afterwards. It was because he thought he could have done more, although everycat knew that that wasn't true, Yellowstripe had said. In any case, it had led to a very tight friendship between Featherstone and Stonefeather. In recent seasons, however, their relationship had become strained, distant even, and they barely even spoke. Most of the cats could date this separation to around Rainwillow's death – and Shalepaw's own birth. "Everyone loved that cat," was Yellowstripe's sad comment when Shalepaw had asked about his mother. But maybe it was something more, realised Shalepaw now. Maybe it was because Rainwillow, the cat that Stonefeather had loved, had died bearing the kit of his best friend.

"Littleflower! Do you know where I might find Featherstone?" asked Shalepaw of his foster mother when he reached camp. The she-cat was just coming out of the warrior's den.

Littleflower looked confused, but answered, "He went hunting by himself near the ShadowClan border. Don't you go running off over there by yourself, now, Shalepaw!" she added as the apprentice went tearing off again. Shaking her head with a smile at her adopted son's antics, Littleflower made her way over to the fresh-kill pile.

Shalepaw did go running off over there by himself, too caught up in his excitement and nervousness to heed Littleflower's words. He found Featherstone neatly dispatching a hare in the heather, and called a greeting as the golden warrior began to bury his prey.

"Shalepaw. What are you doing here?" Featherstone's tone was cool. Shalepaw had always thought it was because he was a favourite of Stonefeather, whom Featherstone didn't like anymore, but now it took on new meaning.

"I need to ask you something," said Shalepaw. His heart was thudding in his ears and he was trembling.

"Well, spit it out then." Featherstone bent to finish burying the rabbit.

Shalepaw bit his lip, then blurted out, "Are you my father?"

Featherstone raised his head slowly, shock in his eyes.

"No. Whatever gave you that idea?" he said, too surprised to be tactful. Shalepaw's breath came out in a rush.

"I – I just - "

"Just what?" said Featherstone gently. He looked very sad now. "I didn't love Rainwillow, Shalepaw; not that way."

Shalepaw was silent. A bitter tear coursed its way down his face, unnoticed. He'd been so sure! Finding his father was the key to his life, it seemed to him. Once he knew, just knew, he'd know also who he was.

"Do you know – "

"Who he is? I knew him once. Long ago." said Featherstone, his voice full of grief that Shalepaw could not know, so young as he was.

"Long ago."

The next dawn, Stonefeather and Shalepaw were out patrolling, not officially but just to see the borders. Shalepaw tried to find his previous enthusiasm, but it was gone for the moment. His quest had hit a dead end, and it seemed he'd run out of meaning and purpose as well as ideas. Watching him, Littleflower knew something was wrong, and, being a smart cat, could hazard a guess at what, but she wasn't too concerned. Shalepaw would realise in time that one was not defined by one's parents, but by one's self. She did not actually know who Shalepaw's father was, but nor did she care. He was one of her sons.

"Over there is the RiverClan border. Fourtrees is very close," Stonefeather told his apprentice as they made their way across the moor. His tone was cordial, if not warm then not chilly and cruel as it had been the day before.

"There's a full moon in a few days. I'll ask Wildstar if you can go to the Gathering," he continued without any enthusiasm. Shalepaw didn't really care that much either, but he would be excited later.

The pair reached the great oak circle and stopped to gaze up at the gigantic trees. The forest on the other side rustled in the brisk new-leaf breeze. Shalepaw could almost see cats moving in the woods on the top of the rise, in what he could smell was ThunderClan territory. Then,

"Shalepaw! Get down!" yelled Stonefeather, moving into an attack position as something huge came crashing down through the Gathering clearing and threw itself at the two WindClan cats. Shalepaw only had time to register black and white fur before he was knocked to the ground. He struggled as the creature bared foul-smelling fangs at his face, but it was too heavy and too strong. Then Stonefeather tore it off him, and they rolled together past the great oaks. Shalepaw scrambled to his feet, staring wildly after the pair. He could see now that it was a badger, a huge one, covered in cuts and scrapes. Stonefeather shoved it away from him, slamming it against one of the oaks with enough force to shake some of its leaves loose, but the badger just shook its head and snarled as the warrior circled in a battle crouch, ready to attack. Shalepaw could hear raised voices and shouts on ThunderClan territory. But if they were coming to help they'd get here too late. The badger swiped at Stonefeather, who dodged the blow and retaliated with such speed that Shalepaw could barely see the blow. But the badger didn't even seem to care, and its next strike caught Shalepaw's mentor full on the side, sending him spiralling across the clearing into the great rock. Growling triumphantly, it made to move after him and finish him off, but Shalepaw, trying to be as brave as his fearless mentor, pounced on its back and dug his claws in. The badger snarled and snapped at him, but it couldn't shake him off. Then it rolled over, crushing the breath out of the apprentice. Shalepaw let go, and it staggered back onto its paws with surprising agility. Slashing cruelly at him with one of its enormous paws, it turned back to Stonefeather, still lying limp against the great rock. Shalepaw wrenched his head away as fiery pain flashed over the left side of his face. Shaking blood from his eyes, he pushed himself onto his side in time to see the ThunderClan patrol rushing down the slope and driving the badger off, back to the forest where they'd have the advantage in fighting it. They were so intent on their quarry that they didn't seem to notice either of the WindClan cats. Then there was silence in the clearing.

Shalepaw crawled over to where Stonefeather lay. One glance at the warrior told him that he was dying; the badger had ripped Stonefeather's flank to shreds, crushing his ribs. There was blood all around the grey tom, pooling underneath him.

"Stonefeather," gasped Shalepaw, shocked. Stonefeather blinked open an eye. He was breathing shallowly and with much effort, but still a look of concern flashed across his pain-drawn face.

"Shalepaw, you're hurt," he murmured, every word costing him. Shalepaw shook it away. He could barely feel it.

"Tell me, Stonefeather. You have to tell me now."

Stonefeather's eyes widened a little. "No." It was a whisper.

"Why not? Why not? I have to know!" Shalepaw said fiercely. He put a paw on his mentor's shoulder. "Tell me."

Stonefeather turned his head away. Then, with a sigh, he whispered, "I am."

Shalepaw staggered away in shock. "But – but no . . . Rainwillow didn't love you, that's why you were so angry all the time – "

"I wish she hadn't loved me. I wish you'd never been born!" Stonefeather's eyes were closed now, his voice stronger with pain that had nothing to do with his wounds. "She'd still be alive today if it weren't for me," he murmured, a single tear falling.

Shalepaw's face twisted into a war of expressions. Fulfilment, confusion, hatred.

"Why . . . ?" he choked.

"But that's not all," whispered Stonefeather, his eyes opening and staring wildly at the sky. Shalepaw got the impression that the warrior didn't really know where he was anymore, who he was talking to.

"I killed Crookedclaw. It was me, it was my fault. I never told anyone. I carried it, myself, I let them believe – "

"What?" His mentor – his _father_ – wasn't a hero, at all. Wasn't anything but a lying old cat, who didn't even love his own son!

"I hate you!" shouted Shalepaw. "How could you do this to me? How could you do this?"

"Everything I touch . . . everything I loved . . . " Stonefeather murmured, so sadly.

Then his eyes came back to the present, and he focussed with difficulty on Shalepaw.

"I told you you were better off not knowing," he whispered then, face filled with sadness and regret at his apprentice's, his son's, words. Then, as Shalepaw opened his mouth to shout at him again, his eyes clouded and his breath left him with a sigh. He stared sightlessly up at the stars around the great rock, grief etched forever into his face. Shalepaw stepped away, tears running freely. He shook them away, and staggered out of the Gathering clearing, that circle of oaks where the truth lay dying. Tears and blood falling from his face, he came back to the WindClan border, but did not cross it. He could see in the distance on the moor, cats playing, cats who did not know or care that Shalepaw's father lay dead in the woods behind him, and dead in Shalepaw's own heart.


End file.
